


hey good looking, what you got cooking.

by milominderbinder



Series: thirty days of skam fic [11]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Cooking Lessons, Domestic Fluff, Even tries to teach Isak to cook, Flirting, Living Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-13 00:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11173197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milominderbinder/pseuds/milominderbinder
Summary: “The first rule of cooking,” Even says, looking Isak very seriously in the eyes and handing him a spatula, “Is to always be prepared for anything.”Isak blinks. He accepts the spatula, but considering they aren't even stood in the kitchen yet, he's not particularly sure what he's supposed to do with it.“I feel like that's not the first rule of cooking. Isn't the first rule of cooking probably something to do with not giving people food poisoning or chopping your finger off with a meat knife or something?”





	hey good looking, what you got cooking.

**Author's Note:**

> my prompt for today was 'prepared'! i'm such a sucker for evak in the kitchen

“The first rule of cooking,” Even says, looking Isak very seriously in the eyes and handing him a spatula, “Is to always be prepared for anything.” 

Isak blinks. He accepts the spatula, but considering they aren't even stood in the kitchen yet, he's not particularly sure what he's supposed to do with it.

“I feel like that's not the first rule of cooking. Isn't the first rule of cooking probably something to do with not giving people food poisoning or chopping your finger off with a meat knife or something?”

Even shakes his head, rather disapprovingly, as he starts to back the two feet into their tiny kitchen.

“Nope! It's the being prepared thing,” he insists. Isak, huffing for a moment, follows him to the kitchen.

The thing is, Even likes to act like he’s this  _ master chef _ .  His dad’s a really good cook -- Isak can attest to that, from every Bech Naesheim family dinner he’s attended by this point -- and Even picked up a few tricks from him.  Between the two of them, Even is the one who knows things like how to make homemade soup and how to crack an egg with one hand and how to bake pretty decent cupcakes without measuring your ingredients.  But if that was the only criteria to make someone a master of the culinary arts, it would be a very low bar indeed.  And Even is still really just a twenty year old boy who only recently left home; he’s not immune to burning toast, and he has to google most of his recipes, and he has a frankly reckless grasp of how to use spices.  There’s no need to exaggerate.

Isak adores when Even cooks for him, of course.  Most of the time that Isak’s had to cook for himself -- which is pretty much since his dad left, since his mum was in no state to look after him at that point -- he’s relied on instant noodles and cheese toast and bags of Doritos.  But he thinks that Even claiming he’s going to train Isak up to be a kitchen genius is a little bit of an overstatement.  

But Even had sounded so excited when he suggested it, so Isak could hardly say  _ no.   _ Their kitchen is technically a hallway and is barely big enough for two people to stand in, but Isak hovers in front of the fridge anyway, still holding the spatula aimlessly and watching Even turn on the oven.

“Okay, kitchen master,” he says, rolling his eyes when Even shoots him a rather pleased look, like he doesn’t think that was sarcasm.  “What are you gonna teach me to make, anyway?”

“Guess!” says Even, as he pulls out a box of eggs from their cupboard.  “I  _ did _ hand you a spatula.”

Isak stares at him.

“Uh, Even, I know you think I’m totally helpless, but I do know how to make  _ eggs.”   _ He even knows how to put a spoon of sour cream in, ever since Even told him that was the secret.  (Isak is pretty sure he can’t actually taste the difference, but he’s never said that to Even.)  “They’re basically the easiest thing to cook in the world.”  

“That’s not true!  There’s a very fine art to making eggs, Isak, a _very_ fine art.  But anyway, that’s not it.  For your first super secret cooking mission, you have to make --” Even is still rifling around in their top cupboard, his lanky body stretched over the counters, and Isak takes a moment to appreciate the way his t-shirt is riding up before Even spins around again, a bag of flour now clutched in his hand -- “Pancakes!” 

Isak rolls his eyes, but he has to admit he’s a tiny bit more excited.  He  _ loves  _ pancakes.  He’s a little bit ruined for them ever since the first night he slept over at Even’s place when he still lived with his parents and when they appeared the next morning, Even’s dad had made the most delicious stack of lemon-and-sugar pancakes that Isak had ever tasted in his  _ life.  _ But he likes Even’s pancakes too.  Sometimes Even makes them for dinner when they’ve had a long day, and it never fails to make Isak feel better.  He’d like to know how to make them if only so that when Even’s the one feeling down, Isak could make a gesture like that.

“Okay,  _ fine,”  _ he says, like he’s still not excited, but he moves the tiny space across the rest of their kitchen and wraps his arms around Even’s back.  “Go on, then.  Show me how.”

Even beams as he starts to boss Isak around the kitchen, making him get out a big bowl and a whisk and the last dregs of their milk -- they need to go food shopping tomorrow, he reminds himself -- and their one frying pan with the loose handle.  Isak follows all his directions easily, and with minimal eye rolling, but he’s laughing when Even sweeps his hair out of his eyes and suddenly looks all intense.

“This is important stuff!” Even protests, as he sloshes some milk into the bowl with the other ingredients.  “Pay attention!”

Isak tries, but honestly, he’s not sure this counts as learning to make pancakes at all.  He’s just watching  _ Even _ make pancakes and handing him stuff.  Especially since Even’s version of relaying measurements is,  _ and then a couple of eggs, maybe three if they’re small,  _ and  _ about this much flour, like -- oops, that was way too much -- oh well, just add more eggs then  _ and  _ okay, and all the milk. Not that you should usually use all the milk, we just don’t have enough left -- uh, I’m gonna add a bit of water too.  Just a slosh.   _ About halfway through Even telling him that he should  _ whisk until it sort of feels done,  _ Isak gives up on the idea of actually being able to do any of this himself, and starts just enjoying the process.  He’s going to get to eat pancakes when this is done, after all.  There’s nothing to be sad about.

Finally the batter is done, apparently, although their kitchen is a mess and there’s flour and eggshells all over the countertops and Even’s used at least five different spoons because he keeps putting them in the sink and forgetting about them.  But then he’s pouring the batter into the pan, ready to make the first pancake.

“You’ve still got your spatula, right?” he checks over his shoulder, glancing at Isak before looking back at the pan, nudging the loose handle so it moves around a bit.  “You need to flip it soon, but you pretty much just have to wait until it looks good, yanno?”

Until it looks good.  Okay.  Isak reaches out and slaps Even’s butt with the spatula.

“Hey!” Even squeaks, laughing as he dodges away. Isak wields the spatula as menacingly as he can, and raises an eyebrow. 

“Even, haven't you heard? The first rule of cooking is that you're supposed to be prepared for anything.”  And Isak knows something he’d rather have than pancakes, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this on my phone and haven't really proofread it so pls let me know if you spot any dumb mistakes :') and also just if you liked it hahaaa


End file.
